Chapter Text
Spoke had hoped that working for BAT would be exciting. Being part of a team and contributing to something greater was something Spoke always gravitated towards.
The truth was that it was just exceedingly lonely work.
Spoke was packing gear for his latest assignment as Mapicc hovered over his shoulder.
“I still don’t get it. Why can’t I just come with you?” Mapicc was asking him, and somehow Spoke had enough of a backbone today to stay consistent in his answer.
“Leo’s gonna kill me if I bring a non-spy on an assignment. I just got into BAT, man.” Spoke continued packing for the trip ahead of him.
“Is there seriously some rule against bringing a partner for a mission?”
Spoke thought back to the unholy amount of books and records back at the BAT headquarters. “Probably, yeah.”
“Oh, come on. You can bend the rules a little.”
“Not yet. I’m, like, a level one BAT noob right now.”
Mapicc frowned, and Spoke pointed a finger at him. “Don’t mope. I’ll be back. Didn’t you have plans, anyway?”
“I guess.”
With nothing further to debate, and one final goodbye, Spoke headed out.
As Spoke traveled in silence to the mission coordinates he was given, stopping every once in a while to orient himself in the direction of his target, he slowly found the silence deafening. It bore into him.
He didn’t like being out and getting stuff done on his own— mostly because he wasn’t used to it. Mapicc had a point; he could’ve bent the rules a little.
His assignment was to track down a target, keep tabs on him, record activity. That wasn’t so bad, but it seemed like boring work. Pretty much everything seemed boring when he had to do it alone.
Maybe he could press Leo on inviting Mapicc to BAT. Yeah— That was a good idea. Mapicc was always the more skilled fighter between the two of them, anyway.
Spoke was so engrossed with this plan of his that he didn’t realize he almost walked himself directly into a riverbed.
He felt the ground dip under him and came to a halt at the last second. Swallowing drily, he stared down at the flowing water ahead of him. One more step and he would’ve been swimming.
“Jeez,” he breathed aloud. That was too close.
He was about to turn around and look for a detour when he felt something sharp press against his back. A sword, no doubt. It made him freeze.
“Don’t move,” came a voice from behind him.
Oh. This must have been his target.
Spoke kept his cool and dutifully kept still. “Hey, if you kill me, BAT’s gonna send half of its spies after you.”
“BAT?” asked the voice. “What?”
“It stands for Bounty Assassin Team, and I’ll have you know I’m a very important figure. I basically run the place.”
The dude didn’t say anything for a few seconds. In his head, he was probably making fun of the team’s stupid name.
He said to Spoke, “You’re the one trespassing onto my land.”
“Nope, I’m here on official BAT business, actually. Investigating you.”
Probably a bad idea to be so direct. Spoke felt the sword press into his back a little more.
“And what did I do to put myself on BAT’s radar, huh?”
“I’m glad you asked.” Spoke was about to reach into his pack when he realized sudden movements wouldn’t be wise. “Uh, let me just…”
He slowly turned around to face his captor, who was one tall dude, with his face twisted into pure contempt. Readjusting to hold the sword at Spoke’s chest, no less.
Spoke pulled out the mission infoslip from his pack in one, clumsy move. All the while feeling those eyes drill into him.
“It says here that you— Ohh,” said Spoke, feeling very stupid. Because the coordinates were completely wrong. Unmistakably off. This was not his target.
“What?”
“Ha…” Spoke said, very dryly. “Uh. Hmm. I think I may have gotten the wrong person.”
“You what?”
The sword was pointed at his neck in an instant. The movement sent Spoke backing up further toward the riverbed. He almost lost his balance entirely, feet slipping into the bank for a second.
“So you think you can just come here and call me a criminal?”
“Uh…” Spoke drew out, trying to think of a way out of this. He could hear the river water flowing behind him. “Hey, look, why don’t we just calm it down a little?”
“You—”
The dude’s livid sentence was cut short when an arrow shot into his chest, and he promptly fell over onto his side. Oh.
Spoke blinked down at the limp body— equal parts gruesome and cool. That was a feat few people could pull off, and only one Spoke knew.
“Mapicc?” called out Spoke, glancing around. “Is that you?”
His friend’s recognizable snark called out behind him, “You really are helpless.”
He turned and spotted Mapicc, slinging his bow across his back and rolled his eyes lightheartedly.
“Dude!” Spoke let out a relieved laugh, then hurried over to pull his friend into a tight hug without another thought. “Thank you, thank you, thank y—“
“Okay, Spoke, chill!” he said, begrudgingly hugging back.
“Wait.” Spoke pulled away and asked, “How’d you even find me?”
Mapicc shrugged. “Duh, I followed while invis.”
“Oh. Should’ve guessed that.”
“Yeah, which means I heard your entire little spiel.” Mapicc looked him over skeptically. “Leader of BAT, huh?”
“Oh, shut up.” Spoke crossed his arms and stared up at the sky. “I had to make something up, okay?”
Mapicc raised his eyebrows. “They cover that in training?”
“Ugh. Drop it,” he said lightly. “But can I just say— that thing with the bow was really cool, man.”
Mapicc straightened a little with pride. “Hey, thanks.”
Spoke really was beyond lucky to have a friend as stubborn as Mapicc. He had no idea where he was going with that whole situation. Especially with the river behind him.
“So, was this your assignment?” Mapicc said, poking the body with his shoe.
“Um, no. I sort of, um…” Spoke purposefully mumbled the rest of his sentence: “wenttothewrongcoordinates.” He purposefully mumbled the rest of the sentence.
“You— huh?”
“I went to the wrong coords,” Spoke sighed out, motioning to the body. “This is just some random.”
“Welp,” Mapicc said, not really fazed, “He was about to kill you.”
“True that.”
“So, you didn’t finish your mission yet?”
Spoke knew where he was going with this. “…No. I didn’t even get there.”
Mapicc smiled innocently. “Sounds like you need a partner.”
In fairness, he did just save his skin. Spoke thought about it for about five seconds before relenting. “Ugh. Fine, okay. Let’s go.”
Mapicc cleanly plucked the mission slip from Spoke’s hands. “This time, I lead the way.”
——
Spoke scratched the idea of Mapicc joining BAT pretty soon after Leo started trying to kill them.
Into a secluded base the two of them went, hiding themselves away from the spies as they planned their next move.
Mapicc followed along dutifully, as he always did. Even when dragged into another mess of Spoke’s making. Not a single word was spoken about the village or the family or the dead spies. Mapicc didn’t ask and Spoke certainly didn’t bring it up.
Mapicc once remarked it reminded him of the old days— running from the Mafia together— and Spoke had to agree. That made it a little bit better.
The bad days were ones where one of them had to leave the base, out on a supply run or a gear refresh. Spoke would pace around and let his worries spiral until Mapicc returned. It was a pathetic cycle.
After more than a few of these panic-filled days, Spoke set up a system for peace of mind— stasis chambers. They’d toss a pearl before leaving, with an hour-long limit before the other would pull and teleport them back home.
It still didn’t help Spoke’s tendency to worry whenever Mapicc was out. To be honest, it just left Spoke with a lot of time to spend glancing over at Mapicc’s stasis and thinking.
It looked the same every time: The pearl bobbed in water, dipping in and out, silent but at the ready.
He couldn’t help but wonder about what Mapicc was doing, if he needed help, if he was okay, if he ever thought about one day leaving Spoke for good.
The ender pearl was mildly reflective, enough for Spoke to see his own silhouette, the whites of his eyes, and his tail flicking with stress.
Spoke always hated how much stronger he felt Mapicc’s absence than his presence. But it was reassuring to know that all he had to do was pull it and his friend would be back home, safe and at his side again.
It was deeply strange to have a person that trusted him like this— enough to leave him in the care of a literal tether to his life.
So much time alone left Spoke with a lot of thoughts like that.
——
So when Spoke pulled the pearl and only got a glimpse of his friend, it was safe to say he panicked.
Well, panic was an understatement— the bombs he built and almost activated said as much. He was petrified.
It was the kind of sharp stress that never dulled down and wouldn’t even let him sleep. All his thoughts circled around Mapicc— finding him, trying to think about where he could’ve gone, worrying about if he was alive at all.
His eventual talk with Parrot snapped him out of his stupor in more ways than one.
But the most reassuring thing was that someone else had believed in the tiny shred of hope that Mapicc was alive. That was enough for him.
——
Spoke didn’t like boats much, for the obvious reason, but when following the trail of ice and lilies that Mapicc had left, he’d do anything. This was his one lead.
Zam had graciously agreed to help Spoke track down Mapicc— not that he had much choice, but still. Being on the move, and finally tracking down a hint gave him a hint of hope.
Spoke leaned over the side of his boat, not very far, just enough to see at his reflection in the passing water, all warped from waves and ripples.
He stared until his elbows were sore and whatever story Zam was telling him dulled out into background noise.
People always described water as refreshing. Spoke was not people, of course, but he tried to understand it nonetheless. For him, water only ever came with burns and pain.
He remembered how Mapicc had tried explaining it to him, once, while fishing. Rain, he told him, always seemed to land cold on your skin. It soaked your clothes and stuck your hair to your forehead. It was refreshing.
He said that swimming was fun, that shoes soaked from rainwater made a funny sound when you walked, and how you never got used to the cold shock of getting caught in a sudden storm.
Spoke stared down at the water, trying to imagine the touch of it. The temperature. Curiosity dug and prodded at him, and before he knew it, he was reaching his fingertips into the passing river.
As he broke the surface between air and water, Spoke bit his tongue in response to the initial burn, a stinging feeling shooting from every point on his fingertips.
Soon, his entire palm was cupped against the current and he was doing his damndest to ignore the pain. There’d be blisters later, no doubt, but at the moment, Spoke was trying to wrap his head around that funny, paradoxical word— refreshing—
—Then Zam suddenly grabbed his wrist. A firm yank pulled his fingers out of the water.
“What are you doing?” Zam said, eyes wide and tone disbelieving.
Spoke blinked. “Nothing.”
“You nuts or something?” she said. “That’s gotta hurt.”
His hand was still gripped in Zam’s. She loosened it enough to grab her own sleeve and dry the water off Spoke’s palm and knuckles. She didn’t say anything as she did.
Even through the mild burn he felt, something stuck out in Spoke’s mind. He looked up and asked Zam, “How did you know about…?”
The question went unsaid, but Zam sighed and answered anyway. “Mapicc told me.”
He frowned slightly at that response. It seemed like Mapicc was always looking out for him, and it was obvious even when he was gone.
With Spoke’s hands finally dried off, it looked like they weren’t going to blister too badly. Zam’s eyes shifted from his palms back to the horizon, and she got back to work steering the boat. “We’ll find him, okay?”
Spoke just nodded mutely.
——
Zam’s hope wasn’t misplaced.
The flower base they found was beautiful, albeit a bit unsettling against the backdrop of the Farlands. But absolutely nothing could’ve smothered his relief when he spotted Mapicc, standing and waving excitedly at Spoke and Zam.
Before Mapicc could even greet him properly, Spoke ran over and pulled him into a bone crushing hug.
“I knew it,” Spoke breathed out, and he couldn’t imagine ever letting go. Because here was Mapicc, finally, with the same hoodie and headband and his tiny laugh as Spoke smushed himself into the embrace. So familiar and yet so different. “I knew we’d find you.”
Then something stung at his neck— Spoke pulled back and saw Mapicc already hurrying to sheepishly swipe at his eyes.
“Sorry, sorry.”
Spoke just rolled his eyes. “Dude, do not get all mushy on me in front of Zam.”
They glanced over at her— she was kneeling down to look at the flowers nearby. They both stifled a laugh.
Mapicc said to Spoke, “Well, I knew you’d find me. I was just waiting for you to show up.”
“Well, duh! I… But, how did… I mean, have you been here the entire time?”
Mapicc shrugged. “Yeah, pretty much.”
“Not gonna lie, for a while there I thought you were…” Spoke cut himself off. He found it stupid that he still hesitated to say that word, even when Mapicc was here and smiling and very much alive.
Mapicc looked in total disbelief at Spoke’s assumption. He shook his head. “Bro, did you seriously think that? Nah. We’ve been here the whole time.”
Spoke didn’t like his choice of words. We? He was about to voice his confusion when he heard footsteps along the dry grass.
He turned and saw a nauseatingly familiar sight, of emerald trimmed armor catching the sunlight with each step closer to them, flat smile and all.
——
Spoke did what he had to in order to bring Mapicc home. Desperate measures and all. Another lie to maintain was nothing in face of that.
So the grave was built, the Farlands shoved from his memory, and the truth remained hidden away. Spoke, stupidly enough, allowed himself to get comfortable with Mapicc back in his life.
But irony struck anyway— it didn’t last long. Mapicc was missing again, this time with not a single lead or hint to follow. Spoke had half a mind to call it funny.
It felt weird to go through it all again— the dread, the empty base, the silent days. More than anything, it was pathetic how often he deviated between desperate hope and total fear. It was a weird loop that always ended up with him thinking that maybe this time, Mapicc was truly going to stay gone. But that was stupid. He’d find him, as he always did.
It was just that life had a way of shrinking down when Mapicc was gone and only blooming out again once he was back at his side.
——
This time around, Jumper had been helping him track down Mapicc and, in turn, the Null.
To tell the truth, Spoke didn’t even have the time or mental energy to appreciate her help. He set her spies to work, used her gear and bases, and didn’t hesitate to get mad when they lost a lead.
To be fair, the Null were relentless and more aggressive than anything they’d gone up against. That was what Spoke told himself.
Above all else, it was clear that Spoke was not doing a very good job at hiding his stress.
For example: Instead of paying attention to Jumper explaining her latest plan, Spoke was staring at the leak in the base they’d settled into.
The base was old, probably a BAT outpost from Jumper’s days as leader. Water from the small rainstorm outside dripped in from a spot on the ceiling. There was a wet stain above and a puddle gathering on the floor.
“Spoke,” Jumper called out, snapping him from his thoughts.
“Hm,” he hummed back, not taking his eyes off the slow drops of water.
“Are you even listening?”
“Uh,” was his reply, and it served as an obvious no.
He turned to face Jumper, who had a hand on her hip and a raised eyebrow. Before she got back to planning, she said to him, “Could you at least grab a bucket for that?”
It occurred to him after a silent second that she was talking about the ceiling leak. He blinked and then stood and crossed into the storage room, where he carelessly emptied a bucket of its contents— spare spear tips or something.
He kicked the bucket until it was under the leak. The ping of water drops falling onto the metal was the only sound echoing through the base. As Jumper planned, and in between missions, he sat and watched the water collect and thought about how much he missed Mapicc.
Whenever they were out chasing down a lead on Null, Spoke found himself thinking about the bucket back in the base, surely overflowing with water by now.
——
Finally seeing Mapicc again was soured by the arrival of Jamato, who shoved himself into their team like an axe into wood.
Butting back into Spoke’s life just when things were going okay again— Who did he think he was? The worst part was that Mapicc and Jumper didn’t mind. No, the worst part was that Spoke couldn’t speak a word of the truth to them. He was beyond furious.
Finally finding a camp of Null escapees should have been a relief. Not to mention the fact that it was led by one of Jumper’s former spies. Jumper and Mapicc certainly took it as a chance to let their guard down a little, with the way they unwinded, mending their supplies and talking at the campfire with the others.
Spoke was sitting among them too, but he wasn’t paying attention to a single thing at hand. His posture was tense, fingertips tapping against his knee.
He was staring at Jamato, who had stepped into one of the houses to repair his gear. He was starting on his weapons, now, but next would be his armor. Surely. Surely.
A plan was slowly building in Spoke’s mind, and he felt equal parts dread and excitement at the prospect of it.
He was so preoccupied, in fact, that he didn’t notice Mapicc come to sit beside him until he bumped knees in greeting.
“Dude,” he said to Spoke. “These rebels have actual gear to share— have you seen their storage room yet?”
“Yeah,” Spoke lied, not tearing his eyes from the window. “Crazy stuff.”
“I feel like we struck gold. Honestly, I think things are looking up.”
Spoke glanced over to spare his friend a tiny smile. Sure. He’d let Mapicc believe that.
Mapicc rested his elbows on his knees. “You know, I feel like we haven’t talked in so long. I mean really talked, not just trying to stay alive during a fight.”
Spoke gave a weak smile. “Yeah. I missed it.”
“I missed you,” said Mapicc, so easily that it hurt Spoke’s chest. “But, really, I think we’re in a good spot. And I think we’re gonna be home soon. Here’s hoping, at least.”
It was so strange to be talking to someone so painfully disconnected from Spoke’s mind. Mapicc was so hopeful. Mapicc had no idea.
“Yeah. I hope so, too, man.”
Mapicc smiled, then his eyes were on the sky. After a while, he asked, “You ever notice how there’s no rain in the Farlands?”
Spoke gave it some thought. “Huh. I guess not.”
“Always the same weather,” Mapicc said. “Barely any clouds. Kinda sucks, if you ask me.”
Spoke had noticed that the weather out here hardly changed at all. They saw the same sunset every day, unburdened by clouds.
“Well, I sort of like it.”
“Right. Well. You only like it ‘cause you’d sizzle otherwise.”
“Sizzle? That’s a stupid word.”
Mapicc laughed at him; a sound Spoke hadn’t heard in a long while. It made him forget about his plan for a short second.
And in between the details of their moment, it slowly crept upon Spoke that this was the perfect moment— the time to try and tell Mapicc about Jamato.
Here, while the man in question was properly distracted and away. Spoke could’ve told Mapicc about all his suspicions, about their bitter fallout, about the terrible things that Jamato was surely planning with them in tow.
Spoke really, really could’ve.
But he glanced back over at the house and the window, catching a glimpse of Jamato getting started on repairing his armor, and was reminded of his plan. In truth, he felt guilty for having gotten distracted at all.
“You know,” Spoke said, as if it’d just occurred to him, “I think I’m gonna go off and try and mend my armor a little more.”
There was still a smile on Mapicc’s mouth. “Oh, for sure. I’ll come with you.”
Spoke shook his head. “No, no, dude, that’s okay. Hang back with Jumper.”
“You sure?”
“Definitely,” lied Spoke.
——
The next time he saw Mapicc was something he’d have to really try and scrub from his memory.
His plan with Jamato had been a bust, but this was worse than any failed plan. Mapicc had chased after him in an instant, with no idea it was his friend.
Spoke knew Mapicc was a good fighter, but it was totally different to be the one experiencing it firsthand. He was laser-focused, every strike precise and clean. There was a determined set to his eyes that left Spoke stumbling backward with every swing.
The invisibility potion was his one tether. So many times, Spoke almost accidentally said something out loud and had to bite his tongue as he instead dodged another load of strikes.
He regretted every hit he did in self-defense, even if half of them didn’t even land on Mapicc. It went against every instinct he had, but he couldn’t, under any circumstance, let Mapicc see who he was really fighting.
And then his defense slipped, and the totem popped, and they both froze. Spoke swore he saw tears gathering in Mapicc’s eyes.
——
Some time passed. Spoke, once again, had no idea how he found himself in these places.
The maze seemed to go on forever. He walked on and on, alone, until time blurred and his legs were long past sore.
It was dark, but just light enough to see the towering walls of the maze. Ivy and leaves coated the stones, which were wet, as if a rainfall had recently swept through. That couldn’t be the case, of course— the Farlands just played odd tricks like that.
Spoke had not felt this drained of hope in a very long time.
He still had some gear, he supposed. His chestplate. Not much more.
So much walking atop the damp stone left the hems of his pants wet. It chafed against his ankles, and he knew if he stopped to check he’d only see burned skin.
Each step hurt more and more. Spoke unsteadily tried to focus on mentally plotting which paths he’d gone down already. He had to find a way out, he had to find his friends and explain this to them properly.
They would understand. If only he could just talk to them.
The worst part was he didn’t entirely regret what led him to this miserable situation. He did what he had to do— maybe he could’ve been more convincing, but he’d try that attempt on Jamato a hundred times over. Whatever it took.
The burns on his ankles were becoming unbearably uncomfortable. Spoke was about to stop to check on them when he turned a corner and saw a heart-dropping figure— Mapicc.
——
Spoke’s cell in Purgatory was tiny, and his mind was very quiet.
He could tell he was in the nether with how dry the air was, or how the prison bars were never less than scalding to the touch. The Null guards marched by his block on occasion, never familiar and never the same ones twice.
Spoke sat against the wall and tried to put his mind to work on coming up with an escape plan. Even back when Mapicc had disappeared, Spoke never missed him as much as he did in that moment.
——
If some tiny, childish, selfish part of Spoke had to be honest— his time in Purgatory was fun.
He felt alive. This was what he was good at: scheming around the Null guards, escaping and getting shoved back in his cell, exploring the black market, finding other escapees and, most importantly, getting Mapicc reluctantly back on his side.
It dawned on Spoke that most of his stubborn determination came from the fact that he knew Jamato would never kill him. He practically had full reign. He was in control, and that was a giddy thought.
So when Spoke was plopped into that game arena, he saw it for what it really was— a pitiable attempt on Jamato’s behalf to regain his power.
It wouldn’t work.
That was Spoke’s belief when he first found himself in the arena, and it only cemented itself deeper once he had found Mapicc again.
He still insisted that he hated Spoke, but still had his back in fights and smirked a little at his jokes. All good signs. Reluctant trust was better than nothing, Spoke supposed.
The fact that Spoke had not extended the same honesty to Mapicc was besides the point. He didn’t need to know about the Null commander, didn’t need to know about the plan. Spoke perfectly maintained what he needed to know.
Besides— Spoke had his mace, and he had Mapicc’s company: things were looking up regardless.
He and Mapicc had been recruiting survivors for their planned revolt against Null, traveling between the arenas. In between it all, they talked and Spoke could almost pretend it was just like the old days.
“On your right!” Mapicc’s voice rang out suddenly.
Spoke turned around on instinct, his firework-bow nocked at the ready, and saw nothing but the snow-tipped treeline. He lowered his weapon and huffed a sigh. To tell the truth, he was a bit unsettled with how easily his hands flew to prepare his arrow.
“Ha! Got you,” came Mapicc’s crooning voice somewhere behind him. “You’re so gullible.”
Spoke slung his bow along his back again. “Ha-ha. Have you forgotten we’re supposed to be teamed?”
“Not a team,” Mapicc shot back, walking ahead. “Temporary truce.”
Spoke hurried to catch up, glimpsing the tiny smile on Mapicc’s face. He’d gotten thinner, more jumpy. But still the same joking friend Spoke had always known and missed.
“Sure, sure,” Spoke played along.
Mapicc rolled his eyes, then looked over at him. “Can I ask something? Whatever happened to George?”
Spoke shrugged. “Snuck him in.”
As far as lies went, it was one of his more trivial ones. But Mapicc's grin made it worth it. “You did not!” he said, lightly shoving him in pure disbelief.
“Oh, sure I did. If I can sneak in a whole mace, then I can smuggle my fish, too.”
“So, where is he?”
“Where is he?” Spoke repeated, biding for time as he tried to think up something convincing. “Uh. My ender chest. Duh.”
“Seriously? The Null made me empty mine before I got in here.”
“Guess I got lucky.”
“I guess,” Mapicc said. “You’re gonna have to show me eventually. I sort of missed that fish, I won’t lie.”
“Aw. Sure I will. If we find a chest, which I doubt.”
“You found me,” Mapicc pointed out. “And you smuggled in a mace, and I haven’t killed you yet. Anything is possible!”
Spoke laughed, and Mapicc did too. That was their last good conversation.
——
Anything was possible.
Spoke could see the way his Null commander— totally his, solely under his command— would stare warily at the emerald trimmed armor Spoke donned these days.
Why was it such a shock? Didn’t he believe in him? Wasn’t this always the plan? Purgatory was always going to be his.
Spoke found himself staring down into the void below for a lot of reasons lately.
——
There was no water down here in Purgatory, and Spoke very much liked it that way. There was nothing that could possibly burn him as Null commander.
No rainstorms to hide from,
No fish to worry about,
No friends to fret over,
No rivers to poke at his curiosity,
Nobody to cry into his shoulder.
All these things and more he listed off as he tried to make himself fall asleep at the end of his days, and he wanted to feel grateful. Really, he did.
Because there was absolutely nothing in the way of what he had wanted. Every obstacle had been tracked and then cleanly eliminated. He had won, in the purest definition of the word.
But as he laid in a silent room, so far from his real home, with nobody around but the silent Null guards at their posts, and just the hum of lava and heat— he felt something unaccounted for. It clawed at his heart and, more painfully, stung in his eyes. He reached a hand up to wipe away the traitorous tears before they could deepen the existing scars. It hurt his fingertips.
Spoke was always a liar, but even he had to admit that while there was no water in Purgatory, there were definitely things that burned.